


Gotcha, Professor

by Bloodharpie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Obsession, Rape, Semi-Public Sex, Submission, Sweat, Teacher-Student Relationship, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 03:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodharpie/pseuds/Bloodharpie
Summary: When Sylvain's crush on his teacher mounts into something akin to an obsession, he finds any and all ways he can to spend time with her.  At the end of a long and particularly exhausting day, Byleth finds out just how much strength Sylvain has been hiding from her.PWP , it begins as a not overly violent non con that shifts more dub.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 195





	Gotcha, Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain is definitely one of my favorites. Unfortunately for him, that means I'm very mean to him. Now he gets to be the vessel to one of my favorite kinks, rape that is ultimately enjoyed (is there a name for that?)  
Please keep in mind that this in no way is meant to imply that what he did is, in any way, shape or form, okay. It is not. But it is fiction, and it makes me tingle, so.
> 
> Enjoy.

The training hall was filled with the ringing echo of clashing metal as its occupants danced to and fro, trying to land on a hit on one another. Sylvain slid lazily down the pillar he'd found to support himself, watching intently as his professor dodged another one of Felix's vicious blows. With her, the swordsman looked downright sloppy. He had to admit, it was pretty entertaining to watch.

Felix snarled, whirling on her again, and this time his aggression was punished. She tipped smoothly to the side, the crook of her elbow catching him by the forearm and twisting as her knee came up to collide harshly with his stomach. He let out a pained 'oof', his stagger to the ground quickened by a swift kick to the side of his knee. Byleth played dirty with Felix. Really, Sylvain almost felt sorry for him. Then he remembered Felix chasing the girl he'd lured to his room away the night before, and he smiled instead.

He began to clap when the point of Byleth's sword came to his friend's throat, the tell all that their spar was finished. She blinked, startled, and turned her intense gaze to his dark corner. “Beautifully done, Professor,” Sylvain praised with a wink. Felix growled.

“What are you doing here, idiot?” He demanded. He rolled back onto his feet, retrieving his discarded sword and leveling Sylvain with his customary glare. “Aren't there women for you to be chasing?”

“Ouch, Felix. You act like you never see me in here.” The swordsman rolled his eyes and turned back to Byleth, who gave him a light smile and praised his performance. “It just so happens,” Sylvain interrupted, pulling himself up, “I was looking to spend time with our Professor.”

“She's busy with more important things,” Felix snapped, “some of us take our training seriously.”

“Unless you wish to join us, of course.” Byleth's soft voice cut his friend's tirade short, and Sylvain bestowed her with one of his warmest smiles. She frowned, unaffected as ever by his charms. “You really could use some practice, this month. You were all over the place at Teautates.”

She was referring to their field day the week previous, when they'd gone to clear a nest of bandits from the shores of the creepy lake. It had been their first time out since last month's mission – after which Sylvain had gone to invite his beautiful, wide eyed professor out to dinner to celebrate, only to find her way ahead of him, entangled with His Highness in a kiss so passionate it had made Sylvain dizzy by proxy. The sight had thrown him into a certain dull rage, and by the time they'd gotten to the battle field, it had morphed into a cold fury.

He really had been all over the place. On purpose, in fact. Sylvain was always like this when he was upset, when his heart buried itself in that black hole hiding in his chest. Every time he would direct his steed to a cluster of enemies, lance raised and chest ringing with his yells of rage, suddenly she would be there, relic glowing brilliantly as she cut them all down. The third time he'd done it she'd spun on him, eyes wide with the most vivid expression he'd ever seen on her face – pure, unmistakable panic – and she pleaded with him, actually _begged_ Sylvain to stop being so reckless. He'd grown drunk with the attention, his performance flipping from a blind death wish to battlefield MVP in a heartbeat. She praised him. He felt weak.

He'd sought time with her every day following, be it extra lessons after class, joining her for meals, or even settling in to fish with her, Jeralt, and Alois. If she had noticed the uptick in attention, she hadn't said anything. The look Felix was giving him now, however, told Sylvain it hadn't gone entirely unnoticed. “What's your deal?” Felix hissed at him as Byleth stepped off the field to get some water, promising Sylvain she'd be back quickly to go a round with him. “You've been following her about all week. It's pathetic.”

“Easy, Felix.” The ease of his voice stood in contrast to the glare he finally shot back at the shorter man. “She might notice your jealousy.” Predictably, he began to splutter angrily, denying until his face was red. Sylvain noted Byleth returning and side stepped his friend, feeling his face break into a warm smile. “I was just telling Felix he can't keep you all to himself,” he joked, and to his pleasure, Byleth smiled back.

“Fuck off,” Felix spat at him. To Byleth he said, “I'll be in the Knight's Hall getting some use out of the Boar's brutish strength. Come find me when you tire of this fool.” And with that, he was gone. Perfect.

“You try your luck rather strongly with him, considering how determined you are to maintain your friendship.” Byleth was looking at him curiously, and he blinked, startled by the unusually conversational tone of her voice. She shrugged at his startled silence, hefting up a training lance and squaring off with him. “Let us begin.”

Sylvain eyed her with amusement, retrieving his own lance and pacing back to face her. Watching her wield a lance was cute. It was one of very few things the professor was terrible at. The long weapon always seemed unyielding and entirely not-threatening in her hands. “You sure you don't just want to use your sword?” He offered, and she shook her head. Of course not, he thought, she was trying to learn all of the standard weapons, to better teach her students. Well, he wasn't going to stop her.

They began, and Sylvain was quickly reminded that even a weakness of his professor's was intimidating to compete against. She was unnervingly swift, and her gaze missed absolutely nothing. She knew his every last tell, and before long all pretense and swagger he'd begun the fight with had been completely hammered away.

The tone shifted, and the real fight began. He made his first, second, then third successful dodge, following the last with a sound _whack_ to the middle of her back, and she turned quickly back to him, her expression pleased. His heart fluttered, and he sprung at her again. Around and around they whirled, Sylvain finally gaining the advantage as her inexperience with the lance combined with her drained energy from her fight with Felix. Normally this is when he'd relent, ease back and either let her win or offer to call the battle off and treat her to dinner.

Not tonight. Something was moving in his chest, rumbling, growling, clawing at him. Every falter in her hands, slip of her feet, stutter of her breath hit him like arrows to the chest, feeding the beast growing within him. Each little sign of exhaustion drove his heart to hammer faster in his chest, his movements sharpening, strengthening. Soon she was entirely on the defensive, her proud look shifting to surprise. His blow sent her reeling back, staggering for a moment before she fell against the lip separating the stone courtyard from the lower dirt ground of the training field.

She was gasping, and Sylvain's eyes locked on her heaving chest, mesmerized by the exaggerated rise and fall of her full breasts. Her lips were parted, her hot breath puffing into little clouds against the cool autumn air, her dark hair sticking messily to her face with sweat. “Well done,” she breathed, and he snapped.

He fell upon her in an instant, tangling his hand into her hair and pulling her mouth roughly to his. She made a muffled sound of protest against his lips, her arms moving to push him off, but his brain warped it, forcing it to take the shape he was looking for, hearing a moan in its place as his hand dropped to the base of her skull, long and strong fingers forcing her jaw to open so he could force his tongue inside. One struggling arm was pinned with his free hand, the other, tired and weak from an exhausting day, clawed uselessly at his hair and back.

Sylvain levered his weight against her, chest pining her back roughly to the stone lip of the ground as he forced his way between her legs. He could feel her heat as he settled against her and he moaned into her mouth wantonly, shifting to push a knee to her thigh to pin it hard against the ground. She gasped against him again, and where any one in their right mind would have heard the fear, the anger, he heard only pleasure, encouragement. He slid his tongue expertly over hers, his fingertips bruising against her jaw, preventing her teeth from locking down on him.

It continued for awhile, the whispers of her clothes scraping against the ground in her struggle echoing against the stone walls, matched by Sylvain's moans of bliss. She was a mess when he finally pulled back, her chin glistening with spit, her lips an angry red from the abuse. Her tongue slid partially out as she panted, her eyes wild. She was breathless, the feel of the fingers at the crook of her jaw growing agonizing as she stared, searching her student's face. She almost didn't recognize him, all trace of levity and charm gone, replaced by some dark, ravenous man whose chocolate eyes were drinking in every last detail of her appearance. She struggled to speak, but words failed her, her throat supplying weak, piteous noises in its wake.

He simpered, raising the hand that was restraining her right arm to drag it over her heated lips as he crooned dark yet sweet little nothings at her. Something stirred in Byleth, and her head spun. _No_. She thought. That wasn't right. Her freed arm flailed uselessly against his side, and he chuckled, low and husky, burying his face into her neck and nipping over the heated flesh. That little something stirred again, and she whimpered, a pathetic little sound that only served to push him further.

Sylvain captured her lips again, finally releasing the back of her head to free his hand to slide down the front of her throat. It trembled beneath his fingertips, and he pressed harder, sliding along the decorative metal of her chest piece. He tugged at it, and she could hear his breath catch in surprised pleasure as it clicked off, coming loose in his hands and setting her heavy breasts free against his chest. He squeezed over them immediately, his hand painfully tight, breathtakingly rough, and she gasped, twisting beneath him. They'd never been particularly sensitive, but then again, they'd never been entirely manhandled like this, either.

He tired of them quickly, his hand skirting over the ridges of her chest piece until his fingers came to rest over the soft skin of her belly, tickling above her waist band. He pulled back to nip at her neck again and she jerked her head away, writhing beneath him. A hand came up to tangle itself back into her hair, his elbow pinning the bicep of her right arm sharply as he held her, and his teeth tightened over her pulse. His fingers danced lower, stroking over the curve of her womanhood, reveling in the radiating heat, and she groaned, twisting her head to the side again. “Sylv-ain,” she finally managed, her voice hoarse and ragged. His hand stilled, his face rising from her neck and his eyes searching her face, listening. Relief bubbled in Byleth's chest, pulling her mouth into a bizarre, ill timed smile, one meant to reassure him, to calm him, but taken so, so very differently as she breathed, “_please_.”

He growled, surging to lock their lips back together with bruising force. His left hand clenched painfully in her hair while his right plunged into her shorts, insistent fingers scrabbling at the hem of her undergarments before he found his way inside, and he rumbled a broken moan into her mouth as they finally sank into her folds, sliding against her with an ease that made Byleth's cheeks burn hot beneath him. She felt his legs twitch as he massaged over the hood of her clit, hooking expertly to find the nub it was hiding. She actually moaned when he began to stroke over her, sparks of pleasure sending little spasms across the muscles of her thigh. This was so very, very different from touching herself. It was disarming, intoxicating, the sensation casting a heated haze over her mind as he pulled back, panting and staring at her coming readily undone for him.

He breathed her name at her quiet gasps, the first of her students to ever use it, and his longest finger slid gently into her entrance. Byleth's eyes snapped open, and he sank it to the hilt, crooking it and firmly stroking over something inside that made her vision swim. She groaned, rocking her hips to his hand, and he moaned back, pressing his forehead to hers as he slipped a second finger to join the first. She was dripping with pleasure, and for the first time in nearly four years Sylvain worried he might sully his pants before they could get very far. The feeling of her, hot and slick and clenching around him, this powerful woman rendered weak and submissive beneath him, panting his name...it robbed him of any and all reason or restraint. She was a goddess, he was convinced, and she was parting her legs for him, moaning and pleading with him, and damn it _all_ he was so gone.

He began to pump his fingers faster, his strokes firm and hand lifting her with every inward motion. His attention fell away from her clit and she whined, a hand grasping at his forearm. She could hear the wet sound of her own arousal with every movement of his hand, now, far, far too loud in the open courtyard. Not to mention mortifying, she thought, a choked gasp escaping her when his thumb fell back over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Before Byleth really understood what she was doing, she was titling her head back, lips searching for his, finding them easily, pressing back into his kisses as she tightened around his fingers. They were sinful, a dangerous magic as they worked her open, beckoning her to the peak, to surrender herself to the rushing, electric sensation humming through her.

Sylvain added a third finger, twisting roughly to make room as he pushed it inside, and she was full, and his thumb was back, and the peak was rushing back, surging toward her at breakneck speed, and he moaned her name again and she plummeted, her whole body tense as she climaxed, her back arched and body rigid and thighs clamped around his wrist. She all but screamed into his mouth, pistoning her hips wantonly against him, chasing the sharp edge of her orgasm, riding it out until her eyes rolled back at the sensation, body shuddering with sensitivity. He obliged her, his fingers pumping out her orgasm at a steady pace even as his thumb pulled back from her sensitive clit, gently rubbing just to the side, giving her just enough as she drove herself to her limit.

Awareness slammed into her with the force of a cavalry unit. The blistering pain of her abused lips against his, the sharp snare of her heart against her ribs, the cold evening air freezing over her sweaty and heated skin. The dull, throbbing pleasure of his fingers buried inside of her, the thrill of his hard and heavy length pressed against her thigh. She swallowed thickly, a bit of strength and energy regained, and brought her hand to his shoulder, pushing at it firmly until he pulled back.

Her eyes were dark and expressionless, trained intensely on Sylvain as he slid his soaked hand out of her shorts and shifted onto his knees, giving her space. He was painfully hard, his trousers pinching uncomfortably around him as he moved, and he was all too aware of the extra bite of the air against his fingers, so wet they'd become pruned in their ministrations. He couldn't help but drop them to his aching length, squeezing and pulling at himself firmly through the fabric, head light at the sensation. Her eyes didn't move from his face, but her hand snapped forward, catching him by the wrist, and his heart picked up. He didn't really know what he expected in that moment, but a spectrum of reactions – from instant murder to a helping hand – flashed before his eyes, screeching to a halt when she spoke.

“Not here,” she told him, her voice back to its even and dull tone. He blinked, his brain struggling around her words, and he staggered as she hauled them both to their feet. “You're lucky nobody's come in, already,” she said, walking toward the exit. _You're_ he repeated in his mind, still staring when she paused, noticing his failure to follow, and beckoned him after. It sat like a stone in his stomach, and he couldn't quite place his finger on why. Thoughts too trained on the sway of her hips, and the responding pulse of his erection as he followed her.

Byleth's room was blessedly close to the training grounds, her sharp eyes scanning for witnesses quickly before she shoved Sylvain inside, the door snapping quickly shut behind her. “Undress,” she commanded, and Sylvain felt a nervous laugh bubble in his chest, a playful retort on his lips. She stared at him unflinchingly, her arms crossed, and he rose his hands defensively, now moving to quickly obey his once again terrifying professor.

“You really know how to turn a guy on, don't you?” He teased as he stripped his pants away, smirking when her eyes flicked down and locked hungrily over his groin. He hooked his fingers into his underclothes at the front of his hips, right in that little crook that drove the ladies wild, and dragged them down, slowly revealing the prize she sought. He saw the arousal deepen, her arms relaxing when it finally sprang free, at full and proud attention as he kicked the last of his garments away.

“Stop talking, Sylvain,” she rasped, her voice rough again. She came forward, hand lifting to stroke her fingertips up the underside of his aching shaft. Sylvain hissed, biting his lip when the motion pushed his leaking head against his stomach, smearing precum over him while she mapped out the veins hidden under his soft skin. He raised his hands, dragging them up over his thighs and those deliciously risque tights of hers. Her eyes locked back onto his as he grabbed onto her shorts and dragged them down, yanking them to the middle of her thighs. His hand dove between them again, stroking over where her arousal had seeped through her underwear, soaking the delicate cloth of her tights. She pressed against his hand, gasping gently, before the fire lit back into her eyes.

“On the bed,” she told him, her voice shaking around the command. Part of him jumped to obey her, to hurry up and get them both where they wanted to be, but he didn't move. Another part, the newly woken one, dug its heels in and told him _no_.

“No,” he echoed, lunging forward and catching her around the waist with his free arm, spinning them around. She grit her teeth, muscles locking to resist, but the surge of energy she'd received was slipping through her fingers like a phantom. Never real, never there. He overpowered her weakened state easily, bending her roughly over the bottom of her bed. Her knees collided with the foot board as her torso was forced down until she came to rest on her forearms. Sylvain pressed his hips hard into hers, groaning and shuddering with the contact as his length slid over her the slick, rough fabric of her tights. He ground against her there, his hands slipping hotly up her torso to clutch at the front of her bodice and yank it roughly away.

Her breasts bounced free, unhindered by any sort of bra, and he cupped the silken flesh with a moan. The rest of her shirt hung loose at her sides as he groped her, his strong fingers twisting none to gently at her nipples and making her jerk against him. She hissed at the sensation, struggling against him, her sanity worming its way back into her mind, but he ground his hips up into her groin once more and it slipped back away, lost as her head dropped to the mattress and she groaned.

She felt him drag the band of her tights and underwear down in one motion, shivered as his heated skin slid slickly against her own. He pressed his fingers over her again, hurriedly parting her lips for him to press and push his head fully against her. She couldn't help but moan, and she closed her eyes hard against it, her cheeks burning in shame. Anticipation rose like a bubble in her chest none the less, and when she finally felt the toe curling satisfaction of his thick length pressing into her body, she loosed a loud and wanton moan. Sylvain echoed it, his hands coming to rest beside either of her arms as he sank to the hilt, agonizingly slow. His lips ghosted up the shell of her ear as he moved, and when he was finally fully buried, his head nuzzled heavily against her, he breathed, “_Fuck_, Byleth,” into her ear.

Byleth gasped, clenching around him, and he moaned, pressing himself forward. She could hear him pull his hips back as much as she could feel it, the sound of her own slick between them obvious in the quiet room. He pushed back in swiftly, his thighs flexing against hers, and she felt him twitching deep inside her body. She clenched again, moaning, gasping when he repeated his movements. He swore again, and she watched his long fingers as they curled against her covers, his nails biting into the fabric as he thrust. She pushed at the foot board with her knees, pressing her hips back to meet him, her eyelids fluttering with satisfaction at the contact. He groaned a dirty, naughty encouragement at her, and even as her face heated in shame again, her heart thrilled with it, and she pushed back at him harder still.

He grunted and straightened behind her, one hand grasping at her hips while the other pressed hard between her shoulders, pushing her chest down into the bed. It gave him better leverage, and he used it well, his hands flexing and pulling roughly at her body as he slammed into it. She bit into her arm, the air pulling harshly in and out of her nose as she struggled to contain her noise, as he set her body alight with his thrusts. He lifted her hip, dragging her up until her knees scrambled at the wooden bed end, finally settling uncomfortably in the lower grooves in either side. When he shoved back into her again, it ground her bared center into the higher curve of the frame's center, the renewed pressure against her clit setting sparks alight behind her eyes.

He began drilling into her, grunting and moaning and panting like a wild animal, reveling in the rhythmic creak of her bed, the slap of his skin on hers. She gasped and moaned, arching when he found a sweet spot, keening when he zeroed in on it. He was relentless, and Byleth felt the moisture of his sweat drop in ticklish splatters over her lower back as he worked. It was good – it was so, goddess damned good. Like your first stretch after a much needed sleep, like a warm bath after a long and messy battle. It stroked and rubbed over every little kink, pounding them back into shape, grinding her out onto a thrilling high point she had never managed twice in the same day, let alone the same hour.

Soon, much too soon, she felt him begin to tire. His thrusts began to stutter, the harsh gasps of his breath expressing as much exhaustion as they did pleasure. That small voice in the back of her head reminded her that she could stop this, that it wasn't right, that he had forced her. She silenced it with a snarl, dragging herself up onto the bed and off of Sylvain with an audible pop. He nearly whined at her movement, grasping at her hips to pull her back, but she swatted his hands away. Instead she wrapped her arms around his torso, yanking at him until he clambored onto the bed with her, their slick skin dragging deliciously together as she wrapped around him and forced him onto his back, straddling his hips.

His glazed eyes were nearly closed, they were so heavily lidded, and as his hot hands stroked reverently up and down her body Byleth scrounged up the energy she needed to mount him, sliding back over the satisfying length with a low moan. He pushed lightly up to meet her and she fell forward, back onto her elbows, head beside his as she began to rock her hips. They moved in tandem, their noises morphing into prolonged, keening moans as they ground each other toward their climax. His kissed and nipped at her neck and jaw, breathing ragged, and as she slammed herself roughly back on him he finally threw his head back and groaned her name, hips stuttering and body jerking as he came hot and hard and deep within her body. But she wasn't quite there yet.

He gasped, his eyes snapping open as Byleth's nails buried into the meat of her shoulder and she kept her pace, grinding rough and hard back against him. He made a strained sort of sound, grabbing at her hips, gasping incoherently. She had the upper hand again, and something about the look of mounting alarm on his face stroked something deep within Byleth. She crooned, shivering as the warning trembles of her climax came, delighting as he gasped again. “It's too much,” he rasped at her, his nails digging into her hips.

Byleth leaned forward and pressed her swollen lips to his hear. They curled in a smirk, her body shaking and trembling with anticipation as her grinding persisted. “I don't care,” she breathed. His mouth fell open, his eyes fluttering, and she knew instantly that he had just discovered a knew kink, savored the moment as his soaked, softened member slipped out of her, ground relentlessly and beautifully under her strong hips. He keened, mouth hanging open and eyes wide and unseeing and she moaned back, the feeling of him rubbing against her just enough to send her spiraling back over the edge, legs locked over his sides as she came, his seed trickling out of her body and over his abused groin as her muscles squeezed.

It took several long minutes to recover. As they came down from their high, the silence that hung in the air between them slowly grew heavy, cold. Realization of what exactly had transpired coiled tightly in the pit of Byleth's stomach, and shame crept back under her skin like a burning itch. She could still feel Sylvain leaking out of her pleasantly throbbing center as the image of Dimitri's face came unbidden to her mind. She tried to banish uselessly to banish his heartbroken expression, her hands curling tightly in the blankets. Sylvain's hand came up to stroke her hair back and she sat up with a jolt, smacking it roughly away. He blinked up at her, clearly startled at the look of fury and shame on her face.

“I should kill you,” she spat down at him, her heart picking back up as rage swelled to swallow her grief, to give her something sharp and solid to hide her shame. She watched as he schooled his face into one of his practiced masks, very convincingly oblivious. She knew better. She seethed.

“What are you talking abo-” he began, but she clamped a hand over his mouth before he could continue.

“Don't you dare,” she breathed, her free hand biting roughly into his bicep. “Don't you _dare_ pretend you thought I wanted to.” He grew still, his eyes searching her face. They stayed like that awhile, until she knew he had fully accepted her unwillingness to swallow his lies, and she watched his expression change. When she was fully confident he was listening, she continued. “When I get off of you, you are not going to say a word. You are going to get off of this bed, put on your clothes, and leave my room as discreetly as you can manage.” He nodded, face serious, and she began to relax. “We are never going to speak of this again. If you disobey any of these orders, I won't just kill you. I will tell everybody what you did and watch you get ripped apart. Do you understand?”

When Sylvain felt himself twitch with arousal underneath her, he swore his life flashed before his eyes. She merely bared her teeth at him, however, and he hurried not nod, not daring to so much as say yes. He hurried to obey her when she climbed off of him, and his heart was beating so fast by the time he was jogging back to his room, he was convinced it was going to actually pop in his chest. Yet, he was alive.

And he was only a little surprised when the Professor invited him to do it again.


End file.
